


He Lied to Death -- A Fairy Tale

by thatsrightdollface



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Gen, M/M, Slow Romance, paranormal detective and undead gang leader au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Kokichi Oma didn't expect tricking Death to actually WORK.  Whoa!  Would ya look at that.Updates Tuesdays.
Relationships: Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi & DICE, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, and as of chapter 2
Comments: 30
Kudos: 173





	1. Here’s How it Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! I hope you enjoy this fic if you read it~ I'm sorry for anything and everything I might've messed up. :) 
> 
> Thanks!!! Have a great day.

Death came for Kokichi Oma while he was brushing his teeth, in the D.I.C.E. gang’s secret hideout well under the city. 

They’d kept that hideout for years and years, and there were games and comic books piled haphazardly all over the place, mixed in with very serious diagrams and break-in plots, smoke bombs and voice-modulating clown masks. It‘s kinda a funny thought, considering how often Kokichi got involved in frantic car chases... and worked with fireworks without carefully studying the safety warnings... and teetered on the very edge of skyscrapers... but it was something pretty mundane that sent Death after him in the end. Kokichi was the Supreme Leader of D.I.C.E. — it wasn’t _supposed_ to be a bag of marbles that did him in. No way, right? That’d be just too sad. 

See... Kokichi rocked back a step, toothbrush still swishing back and forth, minty froth on his lip like a cheesy rabies joke waiting to happen, and his heel slipped on a few of the marbles rolling out of that dang bag. And bam. Down he went. His head cracked open on the concrete underground wall, next, and his blood dripped to stain a cartoon poster he knew one of his nefarious minions would be sad to lose. 

Of all the ways for him to go, right? 

Kokichi had always been a clown. Clown Prince of Lies, Supreme Leader with a sing-song jester voice and bells on his curling shoes. He could just imagine the cartoon sound effects that’d come along with a fall like that, in a world where he could hop right up and dust himself off. Maybe knock a couple of the dents out of his skull, easy as pie. 

Kokichi tripped over the marbles, and he choked on the toothpaste, and the next thing he knew after the pain of it all was a huge velvety room. The darkness seemed to crawl on endlessly in all directions, seething like a restless thing. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair, with a single candle in front of him on the table. It shouldn’t have been possible, but it felt like that candle flame was velvety and black, too, like fire and smoke had always been one and the same. 

Cause and effect were meaningless, here. Everything that was going to happen was as good as already done. The minute a candle was lit, didn’t everybody know it was gonna go out sooner or later?

It was so cold in that velvety room, and it was so warm. Kokichi tried to stand up, tried to push himself away from the table. Tried to lick at the toothpaste he could still feel smeared on the side of his lip. But he couldn’t, could he? All he could do was stare right ahead, grape soda eyes gone dull, and wait for Death to say hello. 

“It’s good to meet you, Kokichi,” Death said. “You’ve teased me for a long while, now, but I knew it was only a matter of time.”

It always is. 

Kokichi squirmed inside his wax statue-still skin, unable to breathe, unable to blink. He watched the velvety movement all around him, and he watched the candle on the table, and he thought of the movie _Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey_ he’d watched with his gang. Wasn’t this around the point where Death should be open to getting challenged to a d-d-d-duel? They could play pretty much any card game and Kokichi’d be okay with it. Chess or Hangman, Twister or Mousetrap. At least then he’d get a chance. A cruel chance. But still. 

No games came, of course. Nothing but watching, and the knowledge that as far as Death was concerned Kokichi was like the candle on the table. He had already given in. He had already listened through Death’s weird monologue thing, and let himself be carried away into whatever happened next. 

Honestly, Kokichi wouldn’t be able to explain how he did it, but he opened his mouth just the tiniest bit by thinking about what the looks on his minions’ faces could be like when they’d have to gather up his corpse. The idea of them wincing away from him, or hiding their eyes, or asking him _why_ as if they thought he might be able to answer. 

D.I.C.E. would carry their leader away tenderly, Kokichi knew. He’d known his gang since childhood — they saw him better than anybody, and they were his entire world. Making them laugh was the point of it all. Putting on a show for them, giving them a hideout to call home and a gang that did funny and exciting things all the time so they never got bored. 

Kokichi managed to whisper out a hint of _speech_ , because it wasn’t the leader’s job to make his gang cry. Because he always thought up a scheme to get them out of stuff, didn’t he? 

It took all the force he had — all the will, all the stubbornness, all the elastic practicality — but the Supreme Leader of D.I.C.E. asked Death: “Kokichi? Who’s he?”

And Death answered, in a voice deep as oceans and strange as chance itself, “Kokichi Oma, who lived floors and floors beneath the city. Kokichi Oma, who laughed in the face of people pressing guns to his head. _Kokichi Oma, who was always going to die today._ It has already happened. It was always done, even before you were born.”

“Nah,” Kokichi whispered. _His_ voice was like a candle going out. Almost nothing, compared to Death’s. “Never — heard — of — him.”

Kokichi almost couldn’t get that full sentence out. He almost couldn’t keep his eyes focused at all. Too much longer and the candle that was a puff of smoke would’ve been everything. Kokichi was almost gone. 

But Death pulled back from him, then. Believe it or not, but almost no one had ever spoken to Death before, there in that straight-backed chair, in the room all velvet and waiting. And definitely, _definitely_ no one had ever _lied_ in that room. In that chair. Watching that candle as their eyes grew heavier and heavier no matter how wildly they fought. 

And still, the lies came. “I’m — fine,” Kokichi said. He thought of his gang members teasing him for tripping, falling on his ass, instead of setting rare trading cards and flowers on a casket they’d probably have to sell the good TV to buy. Instead of losing their friend, and his games, and whatever else he could give them. Kokichi would give D.I.C.E. anything he could. “Never — felt — better.”

Well, there you go. Death had never been _mistaken_ before. Maybe, in a way, it was kind of refreshing to think there might have been more to the world than one endless and irrefutable truth. One ending, as obvious as the fact that every wave stumbling up on the sand had no choice but to fall back into the sea. 

When Death put Kokichi’s soul back into his skin, his head was in pretty terrible shape and a couple of his gang members had already begun to cling to him, trying to wake him up, calling his name. A few of his sidekicks were already saying a messy goodbye. No one had wiped the toothpaste off Kokichi’s cheek, but both of his hands were being held so tightly. 

And then Kokichi shuddered awake, just barely, just enough to do two things. But those two things were enough. D.I.C.E. was very good at playing along when new games turned up, after all. 

First, Kokichi managed to choke out the words: “I don’t know any Kokichi Oma, and you don’t either.”

And second, just before he passed out again and had to get hurried straight to a hospital? Kokichi winked. He heard one of his D.I.C.E. members cough out a sobbing laugh, then, and he knew he’d done his job. Kokichi would learn his new name next time he woke back up, and they’d figure it out from there. 


	2. Enter the Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!!! I'm posting this a little early, but it's almost Tuesday and I figured "why not?" Thank you so much for making it to chapter 2 -- I hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry for any and all mistakes I might've made/stuff I maybe got a bit wonky. It's... an investigation! Good luck, everybody!
> 
> Thanks, again, and please -- have a wonderful day~

Maybe the story spread around a bit after that because Death was always on the lookout for Kokichi Oma, hunting the world for him from day to day to day. 

There were always people who would think it was strange when they got drawn into that grim and velvety room, after all, to be toyed with by a vast unknowable darkness and asked if they were finally, _finally_ Kokichi Oma, doomed to die in a secret hideout under the city with toothpaste on his face. No dice, though. (Get it?) Obviously none of those strangers were Kokichi Oma, and Death always slid them back into their bones after making sure. 

But those strangers told other strangers, who posted about it online, or who whispered about it to their therapists, or who started searching for Kokichi’s name in every database they could find. It wasn’t very good for Kokichi’s privacy, I tell you what, though by that point he was known by another name completely. He had been known by _several_ names, more like, and D.I.C.E. members held contests to decide who’d get to name him next. 

When the detective who solved supernatural mysteries learned about Kokichi Oma — the guy people said might’ve lied to Death, and the cheater who Death would possibly always be looking for, now — he didn’t want to take the job at first. Kokichi wasn’t actively hurting anyone, the detective said. Kokichi had probably just wanted to keep on living, like so many creatures did all across the earth. Shuichi Saihara wasn’t the sort of person to chase down beetles who escaped the exterminating gas, or scare stray dogs away. You know. 

In the end, Shuichi only took the job because Death asked his friend Kaito whether _he_ was Kokichi Oma, and Kaito was so rattled that he wanted to understand. The two of them found Kokichi’s city by themselves, without a press team or a movie deal, without even so much as letting Shuichi’s uncle know exactly why they were borrowing his car. 

Kaito had never been able to deal with things beyond human comprehension easily. Just the thought of spirits — and Shuichi’s usual detective jobs, on that note — left his stomach squirming and his mouth gone dry. Kaito thought back to the candle that was smoke... but was a spark just barely lit all at the same time... and he was _changed_. Shuichi was doing this for him, so maybe they could look Kokichi Oma in the face and be a little okay again.

They drove into Kokichi’s city late at night, with Kaito’s sneakers propped up on the dashboard. He was dead asleep, his hand still drooped into a drive-thru bag of fries. Those fries had gone cold a while back, but Shuichi still reached over and snagged a few every now and then. He was jittery, after so many cups of burned black coffee. He met his own eyes in the rearview mirror and they were sharp and cold and red. 

Shuichi’d been worried for his friend for a while, and he had been driving all night. He checked the pair of them into a motel without a lot of fuss, and got to work in the morning. The motel had stiff, dusty-smelling sheets and a breakfast buffet deal set up in its lobby. Kaito was appropriately dazzled by the Do It Yourself Waffle Bar, and Shuichi had already started in on their investigation before they made it to the library, or canvassed the city, or checked in with whatever detective-y connections they already had in town. 

Shuichi learned Kokichi Oma was an orphan who had been arrested for petty misdemeanors a couple times before — he learned about Kokichi’s parking tickets, and that time he t-boned a lady’s car because he was trying to open a bottle of Panta as he drove... and/or attempting to stop that particular lady from delivering a shipment of weird robot bears to a nearby high school. Whichever story you were more likely to believe. 

Shuichi learned some people said Kokichi used to run a gang called D.I.C.E., too... a gang that messed with corrupt city officials and played pranks on anybody too powerful and dangerous to laugh at themselves. That was interesting. It was also a pretty good explanation for why so many people wanted Kokichi Oma arrested, whether they had concrete evidence to pin actual crimes on him or not. 

But then Kokichi’d disappeared, and D.I.C.E. got a new leader... or a string of new leaders who always wore playful plastic clown masks. So the story went, at least among people who actually believed D.I.C.E. existed. Shuichi looked at pictures of Kokichi Oma from before, mugshots and stuff like that, and tried not to like the guy’s smile. His flippy purple hair. His laughing confidence.

“He must have been so afraid, if he _did_ lie to Death,” Shuichi murmured, and Kaito said, “Is that a temporary tattoo on his neck? Is he trying to look tough, with something like that?”

Kaito was leaning over Shuichi’s shoulder in the library, then. That was in the morning. By the time evening rolled around, Shuichi had narrowed down the top five places most likely for D.I.C.E. to have developed into their new secret hideout — given that everyone knew the _last_ hideout was probably underground, thanks to what Death blabbed on about — and Kokichi was honestly super impressed. Shuichi wasn’t quite there yet, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on the way. 

This new detective guy might be a little fun, huh? Though Kokichi couldn’t exactly let him get too close, no matter what stories he’d been reading about Detective Saihara’s exploits ever since he rolled into town and started poking his nose into D.I.C.E. business. ( _Of course_ Kokichi had alerts set to go off when people accessed just so many of his records all at once. What was this, amateur hour?)

But anyway, there he was: Shuichi Saihara, the broody, soft-smiling paranormal detective who let his uncle take credit for a ton of his deductions! Shuichi the sweet, mysterious type who’d found a home for some kid born without a face or identity of their own, shapeshifting forever from self to self to self... but _also_ Shuichi the determined loner who’d figured out how Korekiyo Shinguji swallowed so many souls, forcing everybody to be friends with his dead and clutching sister. Ha! 

If only Kokichi could’ve been this intriguing to a guy like Detective Saihara back when he could use his real name! 

Death was always listening, of course, now, and if some handsome unpredictable detective proved Kokichi’s identity publicly that’d be a real bummer. Maybe even game-over, and D.I.C.E. would have to get a new leader for real. How many times could a person trick a cosmic force like Death, anyway? It shouldn’t have been possible even that once, really. They were already paddling around in murky, uncharted waters.

Kaito and Shuichi couldn’t know it, of course, but a solid third of Kokichi’s teammates wanted to get the hell out of dodge… leaving that city behind for good, whatever kinda roots they’d managed to put down over the years… and a few of them wanted to scare any and all nosy paranormal detectives out of the whole prefecture. They were squeezing Kokichi’s shoulders protectively, and telling him not to do anything too reckless. Holding tight to him even now. 

Kokichi wasn’t gonna leave his gang behind, not willingly, no matter how many heroic Wikipedia entries Shuichi had going for him. But if Shuichi wanted to play, Kokichi could keep him entertained for a while. Sure. When he told his gang members something like that, they tsk-ed and asked what in the world they were going to do with him. But they’d help, of course. It’d probably even be a good time.

Kokichi started by asking one of his buddies to drop off some fancy coffees to Shuichi’s desk, where he’d been camping out at the library. The attached note read, _“I’d give your investigation about a C+, so far!”_

And also, hi there. Nice to meet you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the other possibilities I considered for Kokichi's note at the end there, if you're interested:  
> "You're doing great, sweetie!"  
> "Drink these -- I poisoned 'em myself!"  
> "Remember to take breaks, Mr. Detective. You'll still have plenty of time to be nosy afterwards!"
> 
> And stuff like that. :P


	3. We All Want A Little More Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!!! So... I hope you're all doing as well as possible, this week, considering the illness going around/everything going on... please know I'm wishing all of you the best!!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! :')

The detective who solved paranormal mysteries didn’t have _too_ much time to spend wandering D.I.C.E.’s city — Shuichi Saihara knew his uncle was waiting for him to get back to their office, and cases were piling up without him, and as likely as not absolutely nobody was watering the fern by his uncle’s desk. 

Shuichi knew all of that, logically, just like he knew his friend Kaito would have to get back to work soon, too. But here they were, anyway. Shuichi was trying to solve the mystery of Kokichi Oma, some guy who had lied to Death — slipping away when his duly-appointed time came for him, laughing cheekily at the system that kept their world spinning and all the candles both lit and unlit at the same cyclical unknowable time. Shuichi was trying to corner the infamous Supreme Leader of the D.I.C.E. gang, and he would’ve been lying himself if he told you it wasn’t at least a little... you know. Interesting. 

It was _satisfying_ , honestly, finding hints of D.I.C.E. left scattered around that city. A discarded water gun from a showdown with the cops, for example, that a lot of higher-ups liked to pretend had never happened. A fake ID Kokichi’d used once, in the Lost and Found bin at a local bar where all anyone could remember was that he’d eaten possibly a full jar of Maraschino cherries and only ordered soda. 

“Kinda a weirdo, this Kokichi Oma,” was Kaito’s assessment, and Shuichi didn’t exactly disagree with him. But he still found himself feeling so _alive_ , when another sign D.I.C.E. was following along with their investigation turned up. It had started with coffee delivered to Shuichi at the library, and transformed into new games appearing on his laptop that he didn’t download, and fake rubber snakes leaping out of his computer bag when he’d only turned away for a second. 

Pranks and games. D.I.C.E. had always loved pranks and games, despite that time their leader supposedly announced that they were always, without a doubt, the deadliest criminal organization in all existence and the mayor should watch his step. It was flustering, and Shuichi’s mouth was still dyed blue inside from the time D.I.C.E. tampered a bit with food he and Kaito had ordered to their motel room... but the more he considered it, the more Shuichi thought he knew D.I.C.E. wasn’t trying to be dangerous. Not yet. 

If someone like Kokichi Oma — (if this really _was_ him) — wanted to throw Shuichi totally off his trail for a while, he could do better than this. Surely. If the Supreme Leader of D.I.C.E. wasn’t having fun, then he probably wouldn’t have left behind some printed-out newspaper articles featuring a few of Shuichi’s finest moments, with scribbled commentary in a dozen different handwritings. Right?

Shuichi had uncovered three different D.I.C.E. hideouts, by now. He’d found them cleared out and waiting for him, D.I.C.E. disappearing just as soon as they’d set up shop but leaving messages behind. There were those piled newspaper articles, for instance, and there was a DVD with a note saying Shuichi “might enjoy this movie,” and there was a bottle of grape Panta with two very expensive champagne glasses set out next to it. Like a picnic, in the middle of a stained concrete floor.

Each time, D.I.C.E. had known Detective Saihara would be coming and wiggled away just in the nick of time. Sometimes they hurried away before they’d had a chance to clean their fingerprints off of everything, though, of course, and other times Shuichi could’ve sworn he saw someone ducking out of sight while he and Kaito were peeking around. Maybe D.I.C.E. was loading up a rickety van just outside, or something... but they were always gone by the time Shuichi realized where to look. 

It was infuriating, and it was ridiculous: Kaito may or may not have punched a brick wall, one of those times they almost, _almost_ caught the gang. But then again, they also may or may not have then been gifted a pack of cartoon bandages for Kaito’s hand, the next time they picked up D.I.C.E.’s trail. It was a give-and-take. It was the kind of chase Shuichi might have expected to read about in manga, but never actually _live_ , no matter how many creatures of the dark in-between places he came across in his line of work. 

Kokichi Oma had lied to Death, likely as not, and Shuichi wanted to catch up with him to give his friend some closure. To heal a brush with existential terror he wasn’t sure how else to heal. But... that said... Kokichi Oma had also possibly made him laugh. 

And, although Shuichi couldn’t realize it — (that same old story again, right?) — Kokichi _knew_ he had made Shuichi laugh. His D.I.C.E. gang members had congratulated him when it happened, clapping him on the back, snickering that their great and terrible Supreme Leader was probably blushing behind his mask. 

And maybe Kokichi _was_ blushing. He didn’t take his disguise off to check — he tried not to take it all the way off too often, actually, and he mixed his wigs up every couple weeks. Looking at his own self in the mirror had grown strange, honestly, and Kokichi knew reminding his gang members of his bloody death could make them remember to be afraid for him all over again. He had a new, messy scar stretching across his scalp, after all, from where he’d smashed his skull in. His smile was bright, still, at least, and his eyes could get nearly as coy and taunting as they’d been way back when. But it was better not to tempt Death _too_ much — it was better not to get anybody worried. 

Kokichi _did_ take his mask off for a minute, of course, the night he learned he could make Shuichi Saihara the Fancy Paranormal Detective laugh out loud. He had to wash his face, anyway, and all that. He blinked at his reflection, too, though... shuffling from foot to foot... and he said Shuichi’s name into the silence with his own real voice. 

It was the first time Kokichi had heard his voice unmodulated in a long time. He shivered, and one of his gang members called through the door, “Hey, ya need something, Boss?”

Kokichi fastened his mask back on before he laughed back, “No, I’m good. Or — or I guess maybe I could go for your immortal soul, if you’re offering!“

“I’ll bring you a toaster pastry. Okay?”

“Aw. Yeah.”

It wasn’t so difficult, was it, to imagine doing this forever? Kokichi running from Death just like he ducked away from Shuichi Saihara, teasing both and sticking around as long as he could. Maybe D.I.C.E. could mess with Shuichi’s city, even, once he had to go home. Maybe sometimes Shuichi would reach out to them for help, too — help against a shared threat, say, or... maybe... in some kinda final showdown... against the same Death that waited for both of them in the end. 

That velvety room, that twitching darkness, that candle that was lit and blown out and too much like everything they knew. Like a world both ended and beginning, or a joke both told and not dreamt up yet. 

It was a nice little daydream, imagining that moment... in the end... when maybe they’d be on the same side. When Shuichi might look Kokichi in the eye and choose to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him all the same. But it was only a daydream, after all: Detective Saihara didn’t understand any of this. He was here to drive Kokichi back into the truth of that impossible room where Death would be so very, very happy to see him. Wasn’t he?

Kokichi would’ve liked just a little more time to play with Detective Saihara, but after the fourth D.I.C.E. hideout he’d procured got itself discovered... welp. Kokichi could tell his team was getting tired. He was asking an awful lot from them, lately, and the closer Shuichi got the more they thought they’d lose him. 

“Please don’t push this detective guy too hard, Boss. What if he actually _finds_ you?” 

“I’ll miss you. I’ll miss... um, Kokichi. And yeah, I know I’m not supposed to say that name. Oops.”

Kokichi’s minions were starting to tell him that sort of thing, and Kokichi ground his teeth together behind his mask. Don’t be a fool. Don’t make your team cry. Kokichi knew his job, as the leader, and he promised D.I.C.E. he was done screwing around. He had lied to Death _for them_ , and he hadn’t forgotten it. 

Kokichi didn’t leave any clues behind, the next time he and D.I.C.E. disappeared from under Shuichi Saihara’s nose. He did a decent job cleaning up their tracks, actually, and one of his minions hugged him really tight when she realized what he was doing for them. Kokichi patted her back, gently, and said, “I’m sorry for worrying you, again.”

And maybe they all expected Shuichi to dig deeper, now that Kokichi was playing for keeps. Maybe they imagined the stakes would get higher, and things were already close to the end. Kokichi only had to get caught _once_ , you know, before they’d be picking songs to play at his long-overdue funeral. Or it could’ve been D.I.C.E. expected Shuichi to pack it in, finally, and move on to bigger fish. The hunt might get boring, if Kokichi played hide-and-seek too well.

But actually, after a little time of complete stillness passed, Shuichi went back to the library where Kokichi had sent him that coffee not too long before. You could tell the guy was acting suspicious ‘cause he went through all the motions from his very first day on the job. Searching up Kokichi’s old arrest records. Reading about his Panta-related car accident, and studying his mug shots one by one. 

It was almost as if Shuichi wanted to set off whatever alarms he could, so D.I.C.E would notice him there. It was almost as if he was betting on one of Kokichi’s teammates sidling by his library station just after he headed back to the motel, so they’d find the note he left behind.

And you know, that’s exactly what happened. D.I.C.E. found the detective’s note, and Kokichi read it back in their temporary hideout, resting his chin on his propped-up knees. Barely believing his eyes. 

_“To whoever’s reading this,”_ Shuichi had written, in that neat, crisp handwriting of his. _“I’m done trying to find Kokichi Oma. Maybe he can never be found._

_But my friend and I would like to meet the new leader of D.I.C.E., whatever his name is. If it isn’t too much trouble._

_We need to thank you for the coffee, after all.”_

And wasn’t _that_ a gutsy move, for the shy detective Kokichi’d been reading about! The detective who hurried away after cases were solved, and talked in a gentle murmur, and never said anything when Kaito dragged him around by the arm dramatically enough for it to accidentally hurt him. 

It was a gutsy move, and Kokichi’s heart was pounding, his borrowed life rattling all through him in a way that made his head spin. Could it be Shuichi thought he was an absolute idiot, skipping blindly into such an obvious trap? Thanks a ton, Mr. Detective. 

Or... or could it be Shuichi wasn’t planning on turning Kokichi in after all? Like maybe he’d only ever wanted to _find_ him, keeping Death out of things completely? It didn’t feel impossible. Maybe it should have, but what mattered was _it didn’t._

Huh. 

D.I.C.E. had a choice to make, now, didn’t they? 


	4. Trustworthy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!!! :D Thank you so, so, so much for sticking with this story through to the end!!! I hope you enjoy chapter 4.... I had a lot of fun writing it, and I'm sorry for anything I might've gotten wrong/weird. I called this chapter "Trustworthy?" 'cause of the writing on Kokichi's whiteboard in the English version of the game. 
> 
> Please take care of yourself, and know I'm wishing you well!!! Thank you again for reading!

And I guess you know what happened next. 

Lonely weeks passed, with Shuichi Saihara’s uncle getting more and more pissed off, and Kaito Momota saying _thanks but let’s go back home_ before the detective ever saw any kinda message from Kokichi Oma again. The guy who’d lied to Death disappeared back into dirty alleys and plastic clown masks after all, and he decided not to let himself get attached to anybody outside of the D.I.C.E. gang for the rest of his time on this earth. 

No. 

That’s not right. 

Kokichi disappeared, yeah, but Detective Saihara’s uncle’s website didn’t call him the greatest in the supernatural investigation business for nothing! No matter where D.I.C.E. ran, of course Shuichi dragged them up by the roots. There was no peace, ever, and Kokichi watched his gang grow more and more ragged, until finally to spare everyone the trouble he just turned himself over to Death’s justice all on his own. Bye, guys. It’s been fun. You deserved better than any of this. 

Kokichi felt the candle that was lit and unlit all at once burn him up, and the muffled fuzzy-brained darkness drown him, and he became so different on the other side... as all living creatures did, by the end of things. It was a change all living creatures had already succumbed to by the time they were born. 

Or maybe, no. That isn’t it, either!

Haha — did you actually believe me? 

Both the detective and the liar who cheated Death _almost_ believed in endings like those ones, too, before they made their choices. It may have felt as if they could never meet face-to-face... like that would be too simple, too sweet for the lives they were living. Another lie, and sort of a cruel one to tempt anybody with. 

But despite all his misgivings... despite all the reasons Kokichi had to count Shuichi Saihara’s silence as a victory, and just be glad that some nosy outsider wasn’t trying to out his Death-related secrets to the world anymore... all of D.I.C.E. could tell Kokichi wanted to believe he and Shuichi Saihara could have had something here. A rivalry, a sort of dance. The beginnings of a relationship, however strange that might have been, all things considered. 

“You can’t fool us, Boss,” one of Kokichi’s gang members said. “ _We_ know you’re trying not to cry behind that mask.”

“Am not,” Kokichi countered. It was a very smooth, intellectual argument. His carefully modulated voice didn’t shake, either, not even the tiniest bit. 

It had been ages since Kokichi’d imagined _liking_ anyone, you know. Liking them in a different way than he loved his family. That sort of thing probably wasn’t in the cards for a nefarious criminal leader like him, he’d always thought — but then, Kokichi hadn’t imagined tripping over a bag of spilled marbles while brushing his teeth would be enough to kill him, either, and he definitely hadn’t thought he’d really get away with lying to a primal force like Death. But there ya go. 

Kokichi let his D.I.C.E. gang tease him about being in love with a detective who had seen all his most embarrassing mug shots, and he drafted up another note to pass along. A rendezvous time. A promise that whoever would go meet Shuichi couldn’t possibly be Kokichi Oma. Good riddance to _that_ guy! Maybe they’d never known him at all, or maybe he’d left his gang behind a long time ago, and was basically dead to everybody. What a dick. 

“Whatever happens, you know what you mean to me,” Kokichi told his gang, and one of his D.I.C.E. members snickered. 

“If it looks like this detective’s gonna hurt you, we’ll just laughing gas him and get you outta there,” they promised. “We’ll steal his uncle’s car keys, too. And maybe the actual car.”

Nobody could _really_ say how it would all turn out, you know. But outside of knowing Death was coming for them, no one could ever truly be assured of much of anything, in the grand scheme of all this. Shuichi and Kaito thought they’d figured out why Kokichi was running, of course, though — what he had to lose, if his secrets were made public. Kaito watched Shuichi get distracted and restless, waiting for another sign from this mysterious D.I.C.E. leader person, and he couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Peek out the motel room curtains. Let himself feel at peace, for one of the first times since he’d been dragged into Death’s straight-backed chair. 

Traveling with Detective Saihara could do that to a guy. Watching bad TV with Shuichi while he poured over investigation stuff for your sake; having someone around who would notice, would _worry_ , if Kaito was swallowed back into Death’s space that was not a space at all. 

Shuichi was such a reliable friend, going out of his way for Kaito like this. It was the least he could do, now, to let his sidekick know that things were okay. And that’s what Kaito did, trying to keep his voice level, so Shuichi could actually believe his words. 

It honestly _was_ okay to let Kokichi Oma go — at least so far as Kaito was concerned. If there was some sorta Death Enforcement Bureau or whatever out there, then _they_ might have a problem with it. But... actually, this whole thing had to be better than the time Kaito’d been kidnapped by that gambling spirit, who had tried to bet his soul in some kind of spectral poker game. When your sidekick was a supernatural investigator type, stuff just happened, sometimes. Kaito had known what he was getting into, and he could live with this if Shuichi could. They got Kokichi’s response note, and the relief in Shuichi’s dark grey-gold eyes was enough to warm Kaito up all through. Enough to help him move on from feeling hunted, just a little bit more. 

“You’ve got funny taste in men,” Kaito said, and then, “You know: because he’s an undead clown gang leader. Right?”

Right. 

Kokichi had devised a little puzzle for Shuichi to solve, a game to figure out where to meet him. He completely trusted his detective would crack the code, of course, and probably with time to spare. Kokichi set everything up early, just in case, and wore one of his nicer masks. He combed his hands through the hair of his disguise wig, twirling it around in his fingers. If he wasn’t careful, he would tug the thing right off. And Shuichi Saihara would see the scar on his scalp, then, possibly, and Kokichi’s own guilty face, and the flippy purple hair that was still probably a little too much like in his mug shots. 

But that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, now would it? One of these days, if they met up often enough, Kokichi might show Shuichi his scars on purpose. Silently studying him, waiting to find himself _known_. Slapping all his cards on the table and seeing if Shuichi ran away.

Pffft. That’d be a little too reckless, even for him! That one had to be a lie, huh?

But... even so... judging by the way Shuichi showed up to their meeting place with the bottle of grape Panta and champagne glasses Kokichi had left him, it didn’t feel like he was the kind of person to run away after all. He seemed shy, and curious, and like he was a little confused by the make-believe detective office Kokichi’d set up with checkered tablecloths hung over bits of blank wall and pretending to be windows. But then Shuichi noticed the potential paranormal cases Kokichi had found for him in the area, cut out of newspapers and circled in purple pen, lying in a neat little row on the desk. 

He noticed, and he smiled softly, like he finally got the joke. Those potential cases were reasons for Shuichi to come back, once he’d checked in with his uncle again, weren’t they?

“What would you like me to call you?” the detective asked, instead of going for Kokichi’s name. That revealed some of what he knew, didn’t it? Shuichi took a step forward, carefully. Sweeping his gaze over Kokichi’s shoes, discreetly heeled to make himself taller, up to his hidden eyes. His gloved hands, without fingerprints. His eternally smiling mask. Didn’t Shuichi think this was exhausting? But he wanted to know more at the same time, Kokichi could tell. The fancy paranormal detective was having _fun_. 

It was written all over his beautiful, stupidly-serious face. 

And, “I dunno,” Kokichi offered, next. It was a ridiculous gamble — some of his D.I.C.E. members were probably sighing dramatically from their hiding places around the meet-up spot, putting together what he was about to do. Slapping their faces into their hands. Accusing him of violating the time-honored _If We Win the Prize, We Get to Name You_ system. “Why don’t _you_ pick a name for me, this time?” 

And instead of ripping off that clown mask, or giving Kokichi Oma back up to his rightful Death... or, alternatively, getting his uncle’s keys stolen by D.I.C.E... Shuichi Saihara thought about it. He said, “That’s a lot of pressure. But I guess I can give it a try.” 


End file.
